


If You Say So

by Origami_Roses



Series: Dark!Tony stories and snippets. [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark!Tony, Demon!Tony, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Merchant of Death Tony Stark, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Other, not team Cap friendly, short one shots, some crack too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origami_Roses/pseuds/Origami_Roses
Summary: It's amazing how adamant so many people in Tony's life are that he will never move past the Merchant of Death.Tony's reply: "If you say so..."
Series: Dark!Tony stories and snippets. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933546
Comments: 55
Kudos: 549
Collections: Darktonybuckysteve, Marvel





	1. Chapter 1

~~1. Shortly after Ultron~~

It was clear to Tony that Steve wasn't listening to a thing he said. The Good Captain had made a decree and that was that: no matter how valid any point Tony tried to make was, it would be brushed aside. Shaking his head in anger and disgust, Tony turned to leave. As he passed through the doorway he heard Wanda sneer something about "Merchant of Death" in her usual venomous tone. Tony paused briefly, only to hear Clint laugh and Steve mutter something vaguely like an agreement.

Down in his garage lab, as far from them as he could get without leaving the tower, Tony let all his frustration and anguish come to the surface. Though he knew JARVIS was gone - that hole in his life, in his heart would never fully heal - he fell into the habit of talking to him anyway. "I'm so sorry, J. I tried to do something good. And just messed everything up as usual. I'm not sure I can keep going this way, JARVIS. You were my conscience, my guide. You kept me heading vaguely toward the right thing, even though I never seem to get closer. I can hear your disapproval of me and what I've done. I'm sorry. I tried to protect everyone, the world, the Avengers, everyone. And I only managed to destroy people's lives. Again. So I'm sorry, Jarvis, but I'm changing that now."

It took only a few hours of preparation, and he was ready. He waited until most of the workers on the SI office floors had headed home, and quietly issued an emergency evacuation of tower to the few who remained. The Avengers were not so notified. The penthouse and residential floors were quietly put under lockdown. Ordinarily in such an event, JARVIS would have alerted and coordinated with the local news and emergency crews, but he was gone. Tony sent one message: 'intruder detected, Avengers handle, standby on-' just as a series of explosions tore through each of the Avengers' floors, shattering ballistic glass windows into millions of sparkling, deadly projectiles and filling the spaces with a long-burning napalm variant of sticky fire bomb. The fire suppression system had been offlined for the upper floors. The intense heat warped the building's structure, and the top several floors were deemed a complete loss.

Except for Tony's lab. Due to the nature of his work, it was doubly reinforced and trebly isolated. He made good use of that. It was badly damaged, but not utterly destroyed. 

Over the next several days, the media pieced together a story: An intruder had been detected. Avengers tried to contain the culprit, but had little time to react before the bomb went off. The culprit was likely killed by his own bomb. The explosions and chemical fire took an unfortunate toll on Avengers, leaving several dead. Captain America had survived, but was so badly injured there was no estimate on when or if he would recover. Tony Stark had been in his lab as usual, in blackout mode so as not to be disturbed. The initial explosion had triggered a failsafe, and Tony Stark was delayed leaving his lab. He had put on the Iron Man suit he's been upgrading - unfinished though it was - and tried to help the others, but to no avail. The Avengers were gone. Iron Man would fly another day. Mr. Stark has requested space and time to mourn his losses. 

Tony smiled at the news - a bitter, twisted parody of his usual smirk. If he was doomed to destroy when he only wanted to protect, he'd see what he could do with deliberate _targeted_ destruction. 

And no one would hold him back.

*************

  


~~2. at the airport~~ 

As Steve walked forward, flanked by his faithful groupies, Tony could read the self-righteous refusal to back down written in every step he took. He was glad he'd decided against bringing Spiderman along. The kid was too good, too pure of heart to throw into a fight with these amoral people, one of whom Peter (like many) had grown up seeing as a hero. 

"This is your last chance to come in quietly, Steve. Stand down, talk it out like a reasonable human being." 

As he'd ~~half~~ mostly expected, Rogers spouted something about best hands blah blah planting trees blah blah which translated to flipping to bird to the world. Wilson unfurled his wings and red mist began to swirl around the Witch's hands. Interestingly, Barnes had positioned himself slightly back and looked mostly confused and half ready to hide behind Steve. 

Before Steve even finished talking, Tony had made up his mind. Military grade lasers flashed briefly and accurately, burning a hole in Wanda's hand, causing her to scream in pain, and frying the actuators on Wilson's wings effectively grounding him. 

Steve was done talking, now, distracted and staring in horror. The lasers flashed out again, scoring a line across the pavement as he cut Steve's ankles, scoring flesh and severing tendons. Despite his healing factor, Tony was pretty sure cauterized wounds wouldn't be healing soon, if at all. He wouldn't be running away again, at least. 

"Damn, Tones," Rhodey breathed softly over the coms as he unlocked and warmed up War Machine's arsenal, "It's good to see you've still got that mean streak when you need it. You've finally taken the muzzle off." 

Tony didn't bother responding to him. "I told you this was your last chance, Rogers. Your pet Witch likes to insist I'm still the Merchant of Death. I've heard her - so many times. And I've heard you agree with her, so many times. I just want to point out that despite that, nobody's dead - yet. Not by _my_ hand, at least. Stand down, come in peacefully, and we can keep it that way." 

Barnes seemed to make up his mind, and sat down, hands on his head and a lost expression on his face. A snarl from Tony's side gave a brief warning, and he scorched the pavement again in warning to T'Challa - allies or not, this was his show to run. Widow's eyes flickered between the two sides before she put a hand on the young king's arm, reinforcing the warning. 

The Witch's whole body was beginning to glow as she tried to focus her powers despite the pain, and Steve was drawing his arm back for a throw from his position on the ground. A half dozen bullets put the Witch down permanently, and the laser scored deeply down Steve's throwing arm. 

"Don't push me, Rogers. Not this time. I spent hours working my ass off to get a deal for you and your buddies where you'd walk away, and you just pissed on it. If you're so very determined to see me as an incarnation of evil, as nothing more than the Merchant of Death, I can live up to that, this one last time. If you insist on handing me your lives, I will take them. I'd rather you come in quietly before anyone else dies."

*************

~~3. In Siberia~~ 

"An Empire toppled from without may rise again..." 

Tony tuned out the villain monologue with the ease of one who had spent decades dealing with politicians and socialites. He was well-versed in gleaning the gist of a conversation without actually listening to it and preferred to turn his formidable mind to more interesting or important matters. In this case, he was piecing together dozens of small clues he'd been willingly (willfully) overlooking. Leipzig was just the latest in a long line of incidents that led inescapably to one conclusion: Steve was not his friend, for all that Tony had been Steve's friend to the best of his ability. And this bunker was a trap. As the villain of the week finished his rambling, Tony took a few steps back, putting his back against the wall. Ordinarily he would never use such a tactic in his suit - it limited his ability to fly - but there was one trick he had that would work better this way. A screen flickered to life. 

"I know that road." 

His mind went blank as he watched. The video was bad enough. The blank indifference and lack of surprise on ~~Steve's~~ _Rogers'_ face was worse. The conclusion he had reached moments ago gained a new dimension: Rogers was the latest Obadiah in his life. More than not-a-friend. A traitor and an enemy. 

"It wasn't him!" 

"Close enough." Bracing against the wall, Tony set his repulsors at full power. A mere 10% had packed a hell of a punch when he'd first tested them, and while he'd used full power in flight to reach ridiculous speeds, he'd never used them that high against a target. He wondered briefly what would happen as he shot both hands toward the enemies and traitors arrayed against him. The force of the blast pressed him against the wall and he heard the back plate of his suit creak slightly as Newton's laws reminded him of their existence. 

He blinked the afterimage from his eyes, grateful his faceplate blocked much of the brightness, and surveyed the room. 

Rogers had tried to block the shot with his shield, and had been partially successful. The rim looked like it had been soaked in acid - laced with holes and fragile around the part that had been evaporated. It hadn't been enough to fully protect either super soldier. Rogers' face seemed to be heavily scorched, he was missing a chunk out of his shoulder, and been knocked to the floor. The Winter Soldier was pinned beneath him and from the way he wasn't moving, Tony could only surmise he was also hurt. 

The other blast had reduced the villain's hidey hole to rubble. Eventually, Tony would get up to check the bodies for signs of life and call in the mission. But right now? All Tony could think was 'Oh. It can eat through vibranium. Fascinating. I wonder if the boots have the same effect?' 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's short and cracky. I make no apologies.

~~In the Workshop~~

After Stane was nicely dead and out of the way, Tony had a lot to think about. 

It wasn't just that one of the few people he trusted had betrayed him, not just that he had almost died _again_... twice ... from that betrayal. Though both those topics did occupy his mind from time to time. It certainly wasn't what Stane had used on him. The Sonic Tasers had never been approved, never been produced beyond the few needed to apply for approval. Yet Stane had one. How long had he had one? It was a spot of weirdness, really, that Stane had been so adamant that SI should continue making weapons, but had only used one of the few 'weapons' SI made that was non-lethal... in and of itself, at least. Obviously it could be used to make murder easier, and that was a problem. (And why _hadn't_ Stane just killed him outright?) But could it be adapted?

The question sat in the back of his mind receiving zero attention until a wasp got into his lab and stung him. Within a few days Tony had figured out the frequency combination for a sonic burst that knocked wasps out of the air. Once grounded, they could be either squished or swept up and deposited outside to recover and go elsewhere. (Tony found he preferred the tiny crunch of stepping on them. Ok, he's a heathen for killing defenseless bugs. So sue him.) Fortunately, there was no crossover with the human-incapacitating version's far more complex frequency combination.

A few more days led to the discovery that the frequencies needed for getting rid of cockroaches and ants were practically identical to the Wasp Taser. (He liked sugar in his coffee... ants, not so much. And roaches are roaches. 'nuff said.)

A brief meeting with Marketing confirmed that such a device would likely sell well, and SI soon gained a subsidiary devoted to Pest Control.

The Merchant of Death was back in business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the crack. (Ultrasonic pest repellers do exist, though.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arcane vignette and 'normal' one. Hope you enjoy.

~~1. From the Past~~

They all thought he retreated to his workshop for days on end as a way of coping with (avoiding) his problems. Sometimes they'd be right. Sometimes it was to spare _them_ from his ...problem.

His carefully crafted reputation for eccentricity served him well, as it always had.

But he knew it would have to fail one day.

At least it was the Captain who tipped the scales this round. The source of his ...problem. In a way. It was fitting that he should finally pay. 

Tony was too tired of fighting it, too out of it to care when the Captain decided he had the right to force his way past the lockdown protocols and into the lab during a lengthy blackout period. Too lost to his ...problem to hide it. There was a strange satisfaction to the way the Captain's eyes widened as they adjusted to the shadows cast in blue light and saw him, took in the glowing gold eyes, sleek black horns and cloven-hoofed feet.

Tony had him pinned against the far wall by his throat - claws digging into the soft flesh before the Captain could utter a word of protest, holding him there, silent with the harsh pressure on his windpipe, until JARVIS reinstated the blackout. Nothing would be getting out. Yet.

He relished the feel of the pulse racing under his fingertips, fear beginning to take over the super-soldier as he finally realized he couldn't break Tony's hold. The smell of it was delicious, and Tony loosened the crushing grip just enough for the man to speak

"Tony, it's just me. You can calm down. You're safe. Can you tell me what happened? What did you do to yourself?" 

How adorable. The Captain thought he was lost in a panic attack. He blanched nicely at the sharp-toothed grin.

"Howard happened. Because of you, Howard happened. The only thing I have done is isolate myself to spare your lives."

"Don't blame Howard for your experiments!"

"No experiments on my end, here. Just dealing with the results of his. You only knew him as he was, not as he became. Howard never wanted children, you know. He was too fixated on finding you. It was only when science failed him in that quest that he decided to turn to other avenues. Decided to make a _deal_. Oh, he was smart enough not to sell his own soul - he wanted to reap the results of your return, after all - the glory of success. So he went with the next most common chip used to bargain with the devil - his first born child. That use was the only reason he eventually gave in to my mother's wish for a child, you know. So he could get you back.

"Howard was a good man! He wouldn't sacrifice his son for me!" The Captain protested as he began to strain - futilely - against the hands holding him captive.

"Hahahahahahaha!!! You think he valued you so little?" 

The Captain stilled, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

"No, Captain, Howard didn't offer a life for a life. He offered _thousands_ of lives for yours. I was merely to be the vessel that collected them.  
"It didn't quite work out as he'd wanted, though, did it? He only bargained that you'd be returned. He never thought to put a due date on it. And since he died before I fulfilled the agreed upon death toll, he couldn't even try to make use of me a second time to amend the deal. But because of _you_ , because of his _obsession_ with you, I was pushed into killing, and making ever-more-effective means of killing, whether I wanted to or not. Every time I was kidnapped there were fatalities, and I was designing weapons before I began attending school, all to fill a deal I would never have agreed to if given the chance.  
"Even now, I can't completely silence the need to kill. It was burned into my very bones and cultivated with obsessive care. I can usually control it, though. I only take lives that come to me - that attack my home or my people. That force themselves into my space _as you did when you bypassed all the safeties I put in place for your sake_. I find it both ironic and supremely satisfying that I can finally take your life as one of the many that paid for your return."  


The blood tasted even sweeter than the fear.

*************

~~2. In Silence~~

He wondered if they'd notice. "Merchant of Death", he'd been called. Death writ large with showy fire-filled skies, death writ loud in explosive silence, death writ sharp as a piercing bullet. He wondered if they'd notice death slipping silently and slowly through their fingers.

He hadn't really paid much attention at first, mind blurry in the aftermath of that first fight together. Adrenaline pumping, too much happening at once to process it all, to see the writing on the wall.

He hadn't cared for a while thereafter, busy putting his mind and his city and others' lives back together. The Avengers momentarily scattered to the winds, to their own lives before returning to his.

He hadn't noticed for a long time, too busy keeping up with Stark Industries projects and Avengers' gear and Avengers' missions and Avengers' PR and Avengers' debriefings and...

But eventually he noticed. He noticed how they'd taken over his life. He noticed how they treated him like he was and should be ever at their beck and call, like they _owned_ him.

And then he wondered how long it would take _them_ to notice. How long before the thin veneer of contact poison he added to every arrow, every Bite, every knife, every piece of clothing and armor he provided began to take effect? How long before inexplicable weaknesses began to show? How long before stamina lagged? How long until they noticed Death - not writ showy and loud and sharp but stealthy and silent and soft? How long before they realized that in taking over his life he'd decided to take theirs _as he did anyone who thought to enslave him_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter originally read: "I've tried three times to write some more short snippets of Dark!Tony, but they keep getting long... so, here: [Yeah... No](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198677?view_full_work=true) and [Lashing Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573245?view_full_work=true). Hope you enjoy. ^_^ I'm sure I'll have some short-shorts again later."
> 
> I hadn't wanted those who have subscribed to wait too long since I've had this pegged at four chapters for a while, now, and was not getting many ideas for the snippets. But now I have a proper chapter for you, and have added the longer fics in series. Hope you all enjoy!

~~In Sokovia~~

He felt a bit like the Grinch, with his 'wonderfully _awful_ idea'.

It started with an epiphany. He'd quit making weapons to keep them out of the hands of terrorists. He'd bought back millions of dollars of weapons to keep them out of the hands of terrorists. He'd tracked down and blown up caches of Stark weapons to _get_ them out of the hands of terrorists. He'd been making specialty weapons for the Avengers... who were, in turn, weapons in the hands of terrorists called SHIELDRA. They'd tricked him back into the very situation he'd sworn to never be in again, the very situation he'd burned time and money and political capital and business favors to get out of in the first place. He'd never made it his goal to go after the terrorists - though he was more than willing to take them out along with his weapons. There were literally dozens of agencies around the world who specialized in tracking down and neutralizing terrorist groups, so he could reasonably leave SHIELDRA in their hands. Which left him with one objective: he needed to get those weapons back. But the Avengers had shown many, _many_ times they didn't care what he said or why he said it they'd never listen. Which meant falling back on the default: destroy the weapons since he couldn't get them back by more peaceful means.

It wasn't that hard. The debacle with AIM had left him with a few more options than usual. Namely, an explody serum with a remarkably high rate of success. Where success was measured by the size of the BOOM.

Despite not being a biochemist, he was good enough. He'd tweaked the virus (with some help) to find a way to neutralize it and save Pepper. It wasn't hard to take what he'd learned and go the other way, making it much more potent and all but eliminating the chance of controlled integration. Now it was just a matter of finding the perfect opportunity...

An opportunity that took the form of being called on a mission to retrieve Loki's scepter.

It was remarkably easy, in the end. There was zero question that it was a genuine HYDRA base. Therefore, levelling it to destroy his weapons was not a problem as far as he was concerned. JARVIS was on high alert for any and all hostiles (that's everyone), his suit had been upgraded to handle extreme heat for short periods of time, and he had a dozen tranquilizer darts filled with his concentrated Extremis.

After taking down the energy shield and opening the gate, the serum got tested on its first human subject. He took out all the rest of the goons shooting at Iron Man quite nicely. 

The Captain was the first of the Avengers to make it into the stronghold as Tony flew high and scanned for the scepter's energy signature. Three darts (to be on the safe side) hit him as he stormed the gate. The resulting explosion was magnificent and took out a large portion of the wall and a watch tower, as well as probably dozens of HYDRA agents.

The Widow was next, tagged with a couple darts as she turned down a hallway, heading deeper into the base. (One in the neck in a deliciously ironic parallel to what she's done to him.) It took a bit longer for her to reach the explody stage, but judging from the amount of debris and sudden lack of most of a wing, she'd made quite the impression.

The newly opened area made it easy to get a lock on the scepter's energy without all the insulating stone in the way. A few missiles (and a couple more unwitting human-shaped bombs) cleared the path significantly. Shattered stone rained down the cliffsides, opening the basement levels to the frigid air. At his call, Thor swooped in and landed. Tony let him. The scepter was not one of _his_ weapons, and therefore of somewhat less concern. Similarly, Thor was not one of SHIELDRA's weapons, and therefore not one of his targets. Thor wanted the scepter, Thor could get the scepter. Tony would just have his back.

When JARVIS pinged someone creeping up behind Thor, he fired without hesitation. He caught a glimpse of red before a whoosh of air swept his target away. A distant 'boom' assured him the problem was solved. (When he later reviewed the footage with JARVIS, slowed down enough they caught a glimpse of a blond youth grabbing the redhead and fleeing, Tony could only hope the boom had literally been a two birds with one stone solution.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's marked done for now... at least until I get some more 'wonderfully awful ideas'. ~_*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda like two in one - same scene, from both sides. Um, potential trigger warning for mind games as a form of psychological torture?

~~In the Dark~~

They didn't know how long it had been since they'd been knocked out, captured, imprisoned in these tiny cells in the dark. They didn't even know for certain who had taken them in, though they all suspected it was either Stark or Ross. They did know that they were all here - Steve, Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Scott, Clint and Natasha - and stripped bare except for an unyielding, skin-tight wrist cuff that appeared to suppress Wanda's powers, and presumably had some effect on the rest of them as well. They were in narrow oval cells that were just long enough to lie down in, just tall enough to stand up in and just cold enough to be uncomfortable, with no furnishings or amenities besides a shallow cesspit at one end. The walls were smooth, with no seam, crack or chink, and the floors were just rough enough to be uncomfortable to lie on - not that they had a choice. All of them were on edge; Wanda hated the feeling of being closed in, Clint needed to _see_ , Sam and Scott hated being helpless and Steve, Bucky and Natasha's had issues with the cold - they all had bad memories of snow and ice.

There was no routine they could pin time on. Occasional flashes of light would cut through the darkness, as though an out-of-sight door had been opened for a brief second before darkness swallowed them again. Unpredictable and unsettling, the light was too brief to grant them any information and served only to remind them that darkness was not eternal, making it all the worse when the light retreated once again, leaving vague impressions of their cells that only left them more uneasy than before.

Even being able to talk with one another didn't help lessen the disorientation of the pressing darkness. At first they had discussed, plotted and theorized, but speech had petered out as they began to have only the same tired complaints, platitudes and lack of concrete plans to hear from one another. As their voices fell silent, other sounds occasionally filtered in - sometimes before the light, sometimes after, sometimes without the light at all. Dripping water, rumbling machinery, the quiet 'schnick' of a knife rasping repetitively across a whetstone, voices just too soft and too distant to make out in cadences that suggested a foreign tongue... the sounds varied in duration, volume and interval. The lack of discernible patterns and rhythms played havoc with any internal sense of time. Had they been there for days? Weeks? Possibly months?

The sound of dripping water was the most common, and the worst. It not only made them aware of their near-continual thirst, but also of the way unwashed skin itched and prickled.

Meals were similarly irregular - sometimes served close enough that hunger hadn't even begun to gnaw at empty bellies, but never so far apart that they were truly desperate. The food arrived silently and unseen, heralded only by scent and a brief stirring of the air. Regardless of what the scent promised - fresh baked bread, roasting meat, cinnamon, vanilla - the meals were consistently a vaguely warm, mostly tasteless mush and an unfired pottery mug of water. As with the brief flashes of dim light, the tantalizing scents only heightened the disappointment by reminding them of the simplest pleasures they didn't have. It was a curiously gentle, yet effective sort of torture.

Wanda broke her mug in a fit of pique during their third meal. The weak shards weren't even usable for any attempt at escape or suicide and were left to crumble into uncomfortable grit on the hard floor. They all learned not to do that again when none of them were given water with the next meal and the three after that featured water dripped slowly but steadily from the ceiling when meals were served - they could get a drink only by positioning themselves to catch each precious drop in cupped hands or open mouths. They were all more careful when they finally were given a mug of water with their meals again. It was Gulag discipline, of a sort. And it was quite effective.

In the end, it was Scott who cracked first. He had neither military training, nor experience with severe hardship. They heard him descending into a sobbing, hysterical mess before going silent and retreating from any sort of interaction with them. It was only the lack of smelling rotting flesh that indicated he might be alive.

After that, it only got worse - light and sound stopped, and the meals became regular, but much smaller - simple cereal bars and water, and were accompanied by a damp, musty scent. With the constant low-level of hunger, it was now impossible to know if the meals were daily, every other day, or more than once a day. Impossible to know how many days they spent in the oppressive, isolating darkness before they went mad.

*************

Tony loved his oubliette. More specifically, he enjoyed the private little zoo in his oubliette. Dangerous wild animals locked away for everyone's protection and their own good. He'd thought long and hard about how to deal with his erstwhile teammates-turned-fugitives and had decided a hands-off approach would be best. No gloating or villainous monologuing. They refused to acknowledge his genius anyway, so why should he waste his breath telling them about it when he could be _showing_ them?

He'd developed a sedative that would (theoretically) work against super soldiers, and had managed to carefully take out the Rogues one by one over the course of a couple days, keeping them under until they were all safely tagged, collared and in their prepared habitats. It was fun watching them all wake up and try to figure out where they were. The theories about the wrist cuffs monitoring their vitals were hilariously off base.

He'd put a lot of thought into those habitats, and it was an account of explorers trapped in a cave that had finally given him the inspiration. Further research into sensory deprivation experiments and their often hallucinatory results had intrigued him. He wanted to do more than that, however, and had gone looking into the SHIELD data dump for more ideas.

And oh, had he found them.

And oh, did he use them.

Widow's aversion to cold - which he'd noticed but never really considered - stemmed from training on the Siberian tundra. Her cell was specially prepared with a nearly invisible landscape imprinted into the transparent walls.

The Witch had walls with the hint of tumbled bricks and crumbling mortar cradling an unexploded bomb - "STARK INDUSTRIES" showing on the side.

Barton got a ghostly family portrait, the faces gaunt and haunted, but recognizable.

Barnes got the HYDRA logo superimposed over a cryopod with a faceless figure in a lab coat standing by.

Wilson got broken Wings, crumpled on the ground.

Lang got a larger than life portrait of Hank Pym, glowering.

Rogers' was the most elaborate: a detailed picture of Bucky in the Iron Man suit, dead eyes staring sightlessly through a shattered faceplate, slumped against a concrete block wall with the words "Hail HYDRA" written in dripping letters, the iconic shield standing upright, lodged deeply in his broken and bleeding chest.

Dim lighting was set to activate in a random pattern, not quite bright enough to blind their dark-adjusted eyes. Each flash was timed to optimal subliminal cognition, just barely enough for them to catch a glimpse of the images that surrounded them, but not consciously register them. The shapes of the cells and placement of the lights were carefully planned to minimize the chance of them seeing anything besides their own little slice of hell. 

He gave them a week to settle in. FRIDAY had set a subroutine to monitor the rants and conversations in case they had allies on the outside who might be actively looking for them. She informed Tony of anything of interest - potentially viable plans (of which there were few), ridiculous conspiracy theories (of which there were many) and a tally of who woke up sobbing, screaming or shaking silently from nightmares (gradually increasing). After the first time one of them actually asked about the nightmares - only to be brushed off - he moved to the next level.

Hidden speakers in each cell began to broadcast at frequencies and volumes just barely within human hearing. A continual susurrus of accusations, lost within the echoes of every movement they made. "Liar." "Traitor." "Murderer." "Worthless." Other, more audible sounds, were introduced at random intervals to distract and mask the true intent. Tony had spent years being told he was worthless, treated like trash until he almost began to believe it. They were getting an accelerated course of the same.

After a while he added more personalized whispers to the accusations. Too quiet for the other inmates of the zoo to hear, they filtered through the silence without disturbing it.

Rogers' cell began to murmur "Good becomes better, bad becomes worse...bad becomes worse...bad becomes worse...becomes worse... worse... worse...

Barnes had the first three of his triggers whispered in Russian at random intervals. He flinched and shook every time. Every now and then, the fourth word was added as well.

The Witch was surrounded by near silent pleas for mercy and accusations of wrongdoing in Sokovian... in her brother's voice.

Widow was continually reminded "Failures die" in each of the half-dozen languages she spoke.

Wilson heard his own voice cry "Riley", followed by a crunching impact.

Barton and Lang were treated to crying children and "Daddy help!" "Please, daddy!" "Why did you go?"

Tony was a busy man, he had lots to do to fix the world and prepare for the next world-ending problem. As the inmates of his zoo became lost in their own thoughts and nightmares, he gradually lost interest in observing them, and they were mostly forgotten, discarded like the deadweight they had shown themselves to be.

After a year or so, their bodies were discovered by explorers in a cave system in Ecuador, where they had apparently been killed by a cave in. The world breathed a sigh of relief, glad for proof they no longer needed to worry about the Rogues resurfacing once again to cause mayhem and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with the end, but... c'est la vie?
> 
> Sensory deprivation can, in fact, have hallucinatory effects, and people trapped in caves - particularly without a light source - have reported much the same thing. Time becomes meaningless, and the feeling of being untethered from ones body is common. It is reportedly less a transcendental out-of-body experience and more an oh-crap-what's-happening dissociative displacement. Some have reported feeling their heartbeat about a meter to one side, well outside of where they perceive their body to be.  
> Experiments on subliminal messages were done early in the history of television by advertising companies, and continue - or at least are alleged to continue - even today. Crazy stuff (and illegal in many places). Visual subliminal messages generally take fewer repetitions than auditory ones to get through your head, but there is a lot of debate as to how much they actually effect behaviour. I've gone with the view that people under sensory deprivation would be much more susceptible than most of us are in our normal daily lives, with all the varied stimuli we face on all fronts. ... I'm kinda conflating it with certain brainwashing techniques, here, TBH.  
> Smell is one of our most disregarded senses, but also very tied into sensory and emotional memory. It's why certain smells imply 'home' or dredge up specific memories of people and places. People generally have better noses than we admit, we've just learned to not pay attention to what they tell us.


	6. Chapter 6

~~For Justice~~

Steve woke up with a pulsing headache and crushing pain in his arm, unable to remember what had happened. He and Bucky had been....

Bucky!

In a blind panic Steve shook his head to clear the lingering fog and looked around. Tried to look around. He was constrained in some sort of framework, a metal wedge embedded in his each arm, heavy collar around his neck and wrapping up around his skull, restraining his head and limiting his field of vision. Bucky was nowhere to be seen. The shadowy room looked familiar...

With mounting horror he recognized the bunker in Siberia where he had last seen Stark _(crushed, bleeding, defiant)_ collapsed on the floor. Though there was no sign of Stark or the Iron Man armor - or his shield - there was a large, ominous stain where it had been. In his fear and pain, he began to test his strength against the bands that held him, only to freeze as, across the room, a screen crackled to life.

Steve was forced to watch the Starks get murdered all over again, the video pausing on a frame with a clear view of Bucky's face after he had finished and the picture fading out to show a new feed - Bucky blinking blearily at the camera from almost the same angle as the old footage, in a featureless white room, strapped into a frame similar to the one he, himself was in.

A light went on in the booth Zemo had monologued from, silhouetting the person inside.

"Greetings, Captain." Stark's voice was immediately recognizable, formal and cold - so different from the hot grief-fueled rage and desperation of the last time he'd heard it. Steve shivered. "Welcome back to the scene of the crime. Or at least, one of them. You've left so very many crime scenes behind you, you know."

Steve began struggling again in earnest - breaking the bones of his arm against the wedge he now realized was fully embedded into the frame. Biting back a scream he growled "Stark! Let him go! It wasn't his fault!"

Stark giggled - _giggled_ \- in response. "Oh, Captain, I know that. This isn't about Barnes at all. This is entirely about _you_. HYDRA killed my parents and, instead of telling me, instead of letting me assuage my grief and rage by burning every last one of _them_ to the ground, salting the ashes and obliterating the very ghost of their memory from the face of the Earth, you _protected them_ by lying to me, using me, _killing_ me. Since you have denied me proper vengeance, I find myself forced to make do with what I have."

Steve growled, thrashing against his restraints despite the pain. "You cowardly bastard! He doesn't deserve that!"

"Perhaps not. But as I said before, this isn't about him at all. I've even kept him on the good drugs - he's not feeling much of anything right now. Because of you, I was forced to watch my parents being murdered and was denied any comfort or outlet. I figure its only fair that you watch someone you love as much as I loved my mom suffer the same fate."

On the screen, a mechanical bludgeon dealt a heavy blow to Bucky's head - there was no audio, but Steve could hear snap of crushed bone anyway, and screamed. "Bucky~~!!!" A second blow fell, then a third. Bucky's face was covered in blood, nose broken, cheek and jaw obviously shattered. 

"Amazing stuff, that bastardized serum HYDRA gave him. Don't worry, Captain, he's not dead. Yet. That's only the first act, after all." 

Steve could _hear_ the satisfaction in the cold voice and for the first time understood Fury's reluctance to push Stark too far, regardless of how much he'd obviously detested the man. It took a few seconds to realize the vociferous swearing was his own. 

"Now, now, Captain Rogers, language!!" Stark was undoubtedly smirking. "Shall we move on to Act 2, then?" 

Steve could do nothing but watch as the elaborate collar tightened around Bucky's neck, strangling him slowly before completely crushing his throat. With a desperate cry of despair and rage, Steve practically tore his arms in half in a futile attempt to escape before collapsing as heaving sobs tore through him. "I. _Will. **KILL. YOU!"**_

"You already did, but I'm so glad we finally understand each other, Captain Rogers. And to think that this could have all been avoided if you'd just had the decency to be half as honest as your reputation claimed, and given me proper targets to pursue. Ah well, hindsight 20/20 and all that." 

The light faded from the booth and Steve was left with the sight of Bucky's lifeless body filling the screen as his own collar began to shift and tighten. 

*************

Several hundred miles away, Tony Stark smiled as the live feed showed Rogers' face turning mottled purple. "Well, that was satisfying. FRIDAY, contact the demolition crew; initiate countdown." Thirty seconds later, the explosives built into the frames holding the lifeless corpses of two ex-super soldiers went off, along with dozens of other charges, and an abandoned SI warehouse - and its recently renovated and repurposed basement - that was slated for demolition was rendered into unidentifiable rubble. Two days later, the large surface debris had been cleared and heavy machinery moved in to crush and compact what was left, filling in the basement _(the unmarked grave of a traitor)_ in preparation for pouring the foundations of a new facility to house the recently inaugurated Stark Medical branch. If Tony just happened to quietly offer special discounts on prosthetics and assistive devices to Rogers' various victims, well, it seemed a fitting tribute to those who had died opposing the madman.


End file.
